


Fear

by Scappodaqui



Series: Fidelity [2]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Romance, contemplation of mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scappodaqui/pseuds/Scappodaqui
Summary: Gafinilan and Mertil find a place to graze. Set just before the events of Book 40:The Other.Slight overlap with the events of that book; mostly missing scenes.Featuring the backstory of the U-Haul, Andalites attempting a human-style date, and something that is almost, but not quite, a flower crown. Also, brutal killing.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lwoorl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lwoorl/gifts).



It quickly became difficult for Mertil to obtain proper nutrition while grazing only in our hidden underground scoop. He did not complain. It took me too long to notice what was happening, both because of his forbearance and because he had changed how he moved after becoming a vecol; he carried himself as if diminished already. But while we groomed each other one evening it became undeniable. His flanks had grown thinner, his fur drier and more brittle. Mertil has always had wonderful fur, dark blue, soft and luxurious and not prematurely silvered as mine is--though Mertil says he finds this mark of age attractive.

It is painful to see Mertil aged before his time by loss of weight, which makes the bones of his spine stand out like it is he, and not I, who suffers from degenerative illness.

<We need to find a way for you to graze outside,> I told him while I ran a narrow brush, which I had obtained at a human store catering to furred animals, over his back. We had turned toward each other sidelong, so that we stood flank to flank and could groom each other simultaneously. It was pleasant to take our time with the ritual after too many rushed groomings when shipboard.

Mertil twisted one stalk eye to look at me. <It is too great a risk.>

<Some risk, yes. But you need sunlight. Fresh air.>

<I am not one of your plants, Gafinilan.>

<My plants are far less trouble,> I grumbled.

Mertil was idly smoothing the fur on my hindquarters in the one place where it never lies flat. He tensed for just a moment at these words, and I cursed my inability to speak sensitively. Then I cursed myself again for wishing to treat him differently as a _vecol_ . We had discussed this, again and again. I had said that it did not matter to me. But the fact is that on the homeworld, his status would have dissolved our mated bond. _Vecol_ s cannot mate. Once perhaps this practice had a pragmatic foundation, as it would prevent faulty genes from reaching a new generation, but in our case this reasoning was absurd. For one thing, as we are both male, producing offspring would require technology available only on the homeworld. For another, it is in truth _my_ genes that are unsuitable. A quirk of policy, no more, names Mertil a _vecol_ and I, an able warrior.

I am less and less able, in any case. The grooming rituals we performed were more difficult for me than they should have been, my fingers stiff on the brush. And Mertil no doubt felt the many knots in my muscles as he stroked my flank. I had been taking more and more _illsipar_ root, but I fear its effects, too. It muddies my thinking. _Illsipar_ is a stimulant. Taking it in high doses makes the world feel as it does when I am injured in combat: the same dizzying twists and turns, the same hyperconsciousness of every movement… and the same inability to focus on what is precisely in front of me. My thoughts wander more and more, as if trying to escape my body.

Now I came back to myself to find Mertil had moved to put both of his arms around my upper torso. I realized from the tension in my body that I had been shaking. I said to him, <Please, my _shorm_. I would like to graze in the fresh air with you. >

He drew back slowly, as if reluctant to part from me. Sensing, I believe, my own reluctance to have him move away. My own need. It shamed me to have so little self-control. <Let me get you some-->

<No!> My thoughtspeak thundered louder than I had intended. Mertil jerked in shock. I attempted to still the racing of my own hearts. <No,> I said, more softly. <I have had too much today. I would… let us just discuss grazing. It is possible. I have planned well.>

<Yes? What is your clever plan?>

I calmed somewhat. When Mertil pokes fun at me I can tell things are returning to normal. It is true that I dislike making long-range plans, which is why I was more than happy when Mertil rather than I was chosen as Squad Commander. But in this case I truly had thought ahead. <The trouble with taking you grazing is transportation. You are obtrusive to humans.> It was easy for me to graze, because I could simply approach the woods as a human, demorph in a particular cave in the woods, then remorph when I had finished feeding. I left human clothes in the cave for this purpose. <Thus, I have obtained a useful vehicle. The humans call it a U-Haul.>

<I’m familiar with U-Haul.>

<Of course,> I said. Mertil watches a great deal of human television. He helps me to make “small talk” with my human colleagues and finds new recipes for me to make in our large kitchen. I have tried to explain that while vegetable dishes appear more appealing to an Andalite, in human form, it is pastries that take precedence. Mertil and I have both enjoyed protein and vegetable dishes in Andalite form, but I have noted that I cannot sense sugar when consuming food through my hooves. I believe the ability to taste what humans call “sweetness” has to do with the action of human saliva on simple carbohydrate. The mouth, while quite disgusting, certainly enables a great range of sensations.

<You have rented it already?> Mertil pressed me.

<Yes. For this Saturday.> I named the human weekend day when I would have freedom from my job. <So you will come?> I said, after Mertil had bent his stalk eyes slowly one way and then the other in contemplation. I moved to pick up the brush I realized I had dropped. It was difficult to bend low enough to do so, but Mertil allowed me to make the effort myself, carefully pretending not to see my pain. I straightened and we resumed grooming.

<Yes,> he said at last. <It’s a date.>

This is a human saying. Humans court each other in some ways as Andalites do. We graze together; they share meals. We both bring flowers or attractive plants, though the humans usually--disturbingly--present each other with dead ones. Humans apply their mouthparts to each other much as we stroke each other’s faces with our hands.

<I will bring a mutilated flower,> I informed Mertil. <So that we may appropriately perform our date.>

<That is very romantic.>

* * *

 I should have known it was too great a risk. I should have known… I blame myself, of course. My poor judgment. A lifelong curse more damaging even than _Soola_ ’s. If I had been less impulsive, much would be--

But I am getting ahead of myself.

The day began before dawn. I backed the U-Haul up to the greenhouse, which has an entrance to our hidden underground scoop. Mertil was able to move unobtrusively from the greenhouse into the vehicle, and I drove us to the secluded area of the forest we had thoroughly explored, near the human campground. Due to fallen branches, the trail had been closed, but of course we ignored this restriction. It would make it far safer for us to graze. I thought I had accounted for every eventuality.

I had indeed brought Mertil a flower. Not one of the sterile preserved roses prepared by the human embalmers known as “florists.” But rather a flower that grew on a dark-leafed bush in my greenhouse, one with an almost-cloying scent and a short life. I did not feel bad plucking it, as its cloud-white petals would have turned to yellow-brown soon enough. This flower is called a gardenia; the humans enjoy it chiefly for its fragrance. I presented it to Mertil so that he could enjoy its aroma while occupying the dank back of the U-Haul.

We departed the U-Haul and set out to graze. Mertil made a show of casting his stalk eyes about in despair as he exited the vehicle, as if disoriented by my poor driving. In jest, of course. I am an excellent pilot, even of inferior human craft. I quickly demorphed and joined him as we set out into the deeper woods. We made our way to the large clearing where I sometimes fed.

Because we arrived so early, we were able to witness Earth’s yellow sun as it began to cast its light over the planet. The sky shifted from black to red and yellow, with a growing edge of brilliant blue like the heart of a methane flame. Earth mornings are beautiful, with a cleanly sense of newness punctuated by the stirring sounds of its diverse diurnal fauna as they awaken. The humidity today was high, and I struggled to breathe in Earth’s heavier atmosphere, but the water in the air felt like renewal, too; like a morning ceremonial hoof dip for the entire body.

Mertil and I had not been performing the morning ritual. I am not sure when we stopped; perhaps because Earth days are so different from days on the homeworld, or perhaps for other reasons. We had both served the People for so long, after all, and were no longer eager-tailed _arisths_.

I moved slowly and carefully, wary of my worsening vision and trembling muscles. On a previous day I had failed to see a hole in which some Earth animals had burrowed, and had nearly broken a leg. But Mertil sprang forward exuberantly, racing across the grass. He is very graceful, even slightly imbalanced by the loss of his tail-blade. The speed of his movement, and perhaps my poor vision, made it possible for me to imagine--watching him--that he was still whole. Still whole, galloping across the blue-green grass of the homeworld, a lifetime ago.

It is not like me to engage in maudlin reminiscence. It is simply strange to contemplate the fast-approaching end of my life. I wish to store up moments, as if by experiencing them with intensity I can multiply their number.

Andalites no longer believe in some mystical existence after death. We are scientists, rationalists. And yet… there is an Andalite philosopher who spoke of the dilation of time that some may experience as death approaches. Toward the end, existence may collapse into a seeming eternity, a singularity like Zero-Space. A pure, bright instant of clarity..

It’s probably nonsense.

No. What I truly contemplate is what will happen to Mertil after my death. You see…

My father, too, suffered from _Soola_ ’s disease. He died when he was eleven years old, somewhat older than I am now. _Soola_ ’s, like the human disease Huntington’s studied by a colleague of mine, tends to affect each successive generation more severely. So my grandfather died at a relatively old age--old enough that no one thought to examine his genetic material for disease--but my father became sick while in his prime. He died quickly thereafter. My sister, by this time, was already a particle physicist; I was offworld chasing down Bug Fighters, avoiding my own reaction to my father’s death.

My mother, now alone in her scoop, her mate and children departed, chose to take her own life. She left her _hirac delest_ for my sister to view. I have never seen it myself. My sister would not show me. I can imagine, however, what it contains.

I have not yet recorded a _hirac delest_ for Mertil. I do not--

He promised me then that he would not do as my mother has.

I have taken so much from him; I have asked so much. Perhaps I should not ask this, too. Perhaps.

I watched Mertil run across the meadow, his movement gloriously free, his fur glowing blue beneath a blue Earth sky. I watched him with great intensity. I did not see that someone else was watching him, too.

He quickly returned to me after his run. He looked healthier already, his color returned and his chest heaving with the effort of his run. He still held the gardenia I had given him. Now we regarded it together.

<I am unsure of further rituals involved in human dates,> I admitted. <Are we meant to consume the flower?> Gardenias, like other human flowers, are primarily decorative rather than nutritious.

<I believe humans place it in their fur.> Mertil attempted to do so with me. I have rather long, shaggy fur, but still the flower would  not remain where he tried to place it wedged between my ear and my stalk eyes. Andalite ears are far more mobile than human ones.

It turns out that human dates end much as Andalite mating rituals do. Mertil and I let the flower drop and began stroking each other’s faces. Later, I found I had crushed the gardenia with my hoof. Its sickly-sweet smell lingered for a long time in the air.


	2. Chapter Two

We returned to graze in this location again. As I’ve said before, Andalites have a fondness for tradition and familiarity. It is what makes the transient life of a fighter pilot so difficult for most. That is why we have designed Dome ships. It is also why we cling to ritual behavior. Mertil and I have always been uniquely privileged, in a way. We do not leave a mate behind when we depart on missions, and because we have been close for so long, we each serve as a part of home for each other. Because of our bond and our substantial skill as pilots, we were the object of both jealousy and admiration from other Andalites in the fleet. Now they are probably running footage of our feats in battle on the homeworld. I am quite sure that we have attained legendary status, as we are presumed killed in combat. Such a worthy way for an Andalite to die.

Such a romantic story.

So far from the truth.

We have died already in the eyes of the Andalite People. I think sometimes: what is death? Is death what happens when even the echo of us fades from the minds of those who know us? We are herd animals. Andalites left alone go slowly insane. The statistics on _vecols_ show that three-quarters die within a year, either by suicide or illness brought about by the weakened immune system caused by psychological stress. So it must be true, then, that those who live, live partially in the mind of those who know them. We leave neural imprints in each other. Some of us live on in genetic material; we reproduce. Some of us live on in the bonds we share. My mind bears pieces of not only Mertil’s but my sister Arrila’s, annoying as she is; my father’s; my mother’s. I carry with me small pieces of those already dead. Our fellow fighter pilots. Boastful Satril. Fussy Pareon. Prince Elfangor, who could be surprisingly kind. Captain Nerefir, whose harangues are likely what have kept me alive even this long. Even the single _aristh_ aboard the Dome Ship, awkward young Aximili, who used to bump into me in the ship’s narrow corridors and apologize profusely: dead far before his time.

Though Mertil has said he will not care if I become a _nothlit_ and live a second life as a human, I cannot. Not for some noble reason. Andalite custom forbids it, it’s true. But. The real reason I cannot do this thing is simple: _I am too frightened to die twice._

There is one death given to me, foretold in my DNA. If I run from it, what will I become? What fear will haunt me forever, the fear of my second, unearned death?

To live as a human _nothlit_ would be… there is a mythical creature the humans have invented, popular in their media. Mertil told me of it--though I am confused by the many peculiar permutations of the myth. The human myth is of the _vampire_ , a creature that is what they call undead, living forever by imbibing the blood of others. I find this mythos haunting. It reminds me of some of the darker stories told of the Ellimists. That they leach the life out of other beings, even Andalites, to remain eternal. To become a _nothlit_ would be something like that.

So, you see, it is not that I do not care enough for Mertil to remain with him. I care too much to remain with him in such a way.

It is nonetheless sometimes difficult to remember my decision, especially as the pain becomes worse.

Let me continue this telling. It is painful, but so many things are.

We traveled to the grazing location several times, growing relaxed as we failed to encounter any trouble. At first I ran with Mertil, enjoying the pleasurable sensation of partner grazing. Typically, however, I would have to stop before he did, as my muscles weakened. On this particular day, the _illsipar_ I had taken just after demorphing from human had begun to wear off frighteningly fast. After the surge of energy and dampening of pain it had brought came extreme fatigue. I dozed beneath the trees, hooves sunk into the pungent mast gathered along the forest floor. I let myself be lulled to sleep by the feelings of enjoyment emanating from Mertil as he ran across the grass.

And then I awakened, jolted by a blade’s pierce of panic. Mertil! Something was wrong!

I kicked my way free of the torpor that entrapped me. It felt hard to get my balance, as if I were entrapped in the blank featureless white of Zero-Space. The world tilted, turned, inverted, and seemed to twist around me… of course this was an illusion; in fact I suffered from a disruption of the delicate mechanisms that support balance. When I was finally able to open my eyes, I could see that I had fallen. I pushed myself up, hearts thundering in panic.

Mertil! He was taken! He had been--blinded--no, his head covered in a bag of some kind that allowed him to see nothing but darkness. He had been pushed back into the U-Haul. Someone--some Yeerk or some idiot human--had absconded with the U-Haul while I had floundered in and out of consciousness!

I stumbled after them, heedless of the dangerous conspicuousness of my Andalite form. It was like a dream, a terrible nightmare similar to any number of nightmares I have had since landing on this alien planet. I wake up and Mertil is gone. Or I am back at our crash site and it is not only his tail that has been severed but his torso, and he is dead--

This was worse. This was real, and my half-blindness was real, and my all-too-real stupidity had caused his capture. In my heedlessness, I had left my Shredder inside the U-Haul so that I could graze unencumbered. I had lost my warrior’s caution. Become soft in the seasons I had spent on this planet, acting as a civilian teacher, preparing for my death. I had become unwary. And now Mertil would pay for my mistakes.

The surge of energy that suffused my body in panic galvanized my stiff, unwilling muscles. I sprang forward, hoping to catch up to the clumsy human truck… but I was stopped by a wall of Hork Bajir and what had to be Human Controllers. I had failed to see them until I came very close, so one of them fired a Dracon beam in warning. It sliced across the fur on my chest.

I halted. My body shuddered in helpless rage.

<No!>

I would not let myself be captured as well. _I would not let them take Mertil._

How many of them? Four Hork-Bajir. Three humans. One Taxxon. Two? One? I couldn’t see--

One of the humans had a Dracon beam. The Hork-Bajir did not. I realized the Taxxon would not, as it had likely been their Bug Fighter pilot. In addition, I realized they would not be hasty to harm me, as they would assume my body would be of use as a host.

My body. It has slowed. It is sick and weak. But even still I have impressive size and strength for an Andalite. In my prime I once defeated six Hork-Bajir warriors single-tailed. _Six_. I felt a jolt of my old pride.

I attacked before my enemies could make another move.

 _Snap!_ And the human’s arm was severed. It landed twitching on the floor. I swung my tail blade low. _Snap!_ The second human fell, cut off at the knees, and the strike looped around to fling the fallen Dracon Beam upwards, so that I caught it in one of my hands. A maneuver I could accomplish because I had practiced it many, many times. Mertil even mocked me for it, my habit of juggling small fruit on my tail blade and catching it in my hands.

 _Snap!_ The first Hork-Bajir staggered backwards, blood gushing from a deep cut across its chest. It scrabbled helplessly at the wound, croaked out, “ _Gafrash_ Andalite--” and collapsed.

Too slow! Too slow! Before I could properly aim the captured Dracon beam another Hork-Bajir had leapt forward and sliced a cut deep into my flank. I wheeled and fired. The Hork-Bajir was blasted backwards, not killed but merely knocked unconscious. The Dracon Beam had been set to stun--of course--they had wished to capture me. I turned the setting to High and fired again. The third Hork-Bajir sizzled and vanished. Fired again!  Missed!  

The final Hork-Bajir sprang at me. Blades. Pain. My arm! My right arm was sliced to the bone, the big muscles cut in two and useless. Blood welled, but I ignored the distraction. I swung my tail. Missed!  Swung it again.

The Taxxon… there was only one… made its hissing scream. But it did not attack me. Instead it began to eat its fallen comrades. When the Taxxon turned its jelly-eyes upwards to me, its monstrous maw still working on the bodies of the dead, I aimed my Dracon beam and fired.

I consider it a mercy to kill a Taxxon. This one was lucky I found myself in such a hurry, as I was not in a merciful mood.

All that remained of the Yeerks who had faced me was a pool of gore seeping into the green Earth grass. I slipped in it as I attempted to move forward, to pursue Mertil in the stolen U-Haul. But before I had gone more than a few steps I knew I had to morph. My blood loss was too great; I was losing what little control I had over my body. My vision was graying out.

I attempted to calm myself. My hearts beat raggedly; I was close to death. And the strange thing was, it felt almost like relief. Like sinking into cool water. I thought… I am shamed to say… I thought of my mother.

No!  Mertil. Mertil had been captured by the Yeerks. He was... _I could not hear him_.

I pictured the Earth bird in my mind, the one that flew during the day and had reddish feathers. Slowly. Slowly. I shrank. Slowly I felt my damaged arm become a wing, my legs dwindle into my body. Slowly the pain of my natural form left me. And slowly a new pain grew and bloomed beneath the bird’s instincts.

The worst pain.

The itching, rending, unending agony of fear.


	3. Chapter Three

Please believe that I tried everything to find Mertil. I attempted to listen to his thoughtspeak for hints as to his location, but for a long time there was nothing, just the blank pale gray of unconsciousness pulsing in the space he occupies in my mind.

I flew. Helpless against the vast blue of the sky, peering down at the many human conveyances streaming along their roads, I flew. Listening, always, for Mertil.

Then. _Awakening. Light._ I was still flying in the guise of the Earth bird when I felt him stir, felt him cry out, felt him go still once more. I strove to obtain some hint of his whereabouts, but the Yeerks had of course cloaked the U-Haul as soon as they obtained it. Of course. The Yeerks have made all-too-efficient use of Andalite cloaking technology, embellishing it with scraps stolen from the Ongachic and the Skrit Na.

Pain! So sharp and searing I almost fell as my wings made a helpless convulsion. Mertil’s voice: <I… tell… them…> I strained to hear the rest.

Pain again.

But only pain. They had not progressed the torture, had not begun alternating it with pleasure.

How ironic, truly, that he would be exposed to the very Yeerk torture we had spoken of as analogous to our situation on Earth. How bitterly ironic.

<Where are you?> I all but shouted.

Confusion. Darkness. Movement. The smell of gardenias; the smell of gasoline; the voice of a female Human Controller. A Hork-Bajir’s gutteral mix of Galard and other languages.

Nothing that would give me a hint as to his whereabouts, only that he was moving still.

It had been almost two hours when I finally forced myself to land in the woods and demorph.

They were interrogating Mertil, of course. I told him to tell them of me. I told him to give me up. I made my thoughtspeak as loud as I dared, while remaining private. I thought, perhaps, if they took me in exchange for him, they might let him go… after all, he is not morph-capable. He is a _vecol_. He is...the Yeerks would… would see him as… the Yeerks take a dim view of those who are physically disabled. That is all we are to them: bodies.

That is all we are.

I am impulsive and I am large and these traits have always caused some people to believe I am slightly dimwitted. In fact I am not unintelligent.

I knew what would be waiting when I returned to Henry McClellan’s home. If nothing else--even if Mertil had not broken under their torture, even if he had not given me up as I had told him to--they had the rental information for the U-Haul under Henry McClellan’s name.

But when I returned to our home it was dark and quiet, a parody of when I came home after a long day at work. The force field was undisturbed. Though I remained in human morph, I carried the spare Shredder that I had stowed with my clothes in a nearby cave. I entered my passcode and approached the dwelling within the forcefield with utmost caution. Still dark. Still quiet. I kept my hand on my Shredder as I walked, and thought of the human movies about Clint Eastwood that Mertil enjoys; he says that these cowboy characters remind him of me, in an abstract, absurd sort of way.

Inside the house all was undisturbed, from the carpeting to the kitchen; untouched. I had the sudden ridiculous thought that were I to descend to the hidden scoop in the subbasement, I would find Mertil there, stalk eyes engaged with two different television sets, perhaps with one hoof in a tray of the human beverage Sprite. But I knew I would not.

Instead I heard the ringing of the primitive relay communication device humans call the telephone. I had installed the telephone so that my TA Mariko could reach me after hours; otherwise, I had given the number to almost no one. The ringing began, eerily, as soon as I entered the door. That was how I knew the house was being watched.

The ringing ended before I could reach the phone. Then it began again. I grabbed for the telephone with one clumsy human hand and pressed it to my ear.

“Who is this?” Spittle flew from my human mouth as I spoke.

And on the other end… I knew it somehow before he said a word. Knew it even though he must have been in human morph to communicate in this fashion. It was him.

_The Abomination._

* * *

 He called me by name. Of course: he has Alloran-Semitur-Corass’s memories available to him.

“Gafinilan-Estrif-Valad,” he said. “Son of Dormon-Estrif-Garrouth and Tisali-Vaspar-Sineer. Are you as stubborn as your father was or are you prepared to deal with me?”

My father knew Alloran. Their years at the Academy overlapped somewhat. I do not believe they got along. My father had once described Alloran (as he was in his youth) as frivolous. Alloran probably saw my father as stolid and boring, which I must admit are views my sister and I occasionally shared.

I found my human teeth had clamped down on my tongue. It is an instinctive gesture of aggression. I opened my mouth and tasted the metallic tang of blood before I spoke. I wished I could say: _never_. I said instead, “You know who I am. You know who Mertil is. You know that he is useless to you, or you would not approach me in this manner.” I spoke quickly, in a monotone, delivering the information as efficiently as I could. “Thus I demand… no, I beg…” A Yeerk would respond well to an “arrogant Andalite” prostrating himself in such a way. “... that you release Mertil. In exchange I will allow you to infest me, instead. I am an able warrior. I killed eight of your people in the forest. I am morph-capable--”

“Do not treat me as a fool!”

I had to hold the telephone a foot away from my human ear to recover from the blast of noise. It seemed I had angered the Abomination. He spoke again. “I am aware of your disease. You’ll be dead in a season.” I noticed that he spoke in Andalite terms to me. Attempting to bargain, still? To meet me where I stood? I had no idea why, if I were so useless, he would even bother speaking to me. And… as shameful as it was… as pathetic and silly… I felt the rejection of my body as a physical blow. _Useless._ I was useless even to the Yeerks, even in trade for Mertil.

“Then what do you want?” I said. My human voice came out lower than usual, as if something were stuck in my throat.

How did he know of my disease?

Mertil. Of course. He had attempted to protect me.

“I want more Andalite hosts,” the Abomination said. “The Andalite Bandits. Perhaps they are not allied with you because they, too, see your uselessness. But you must have access to them. You must be able to bring me a healthy Andalite body.”

My mind reeled. Other Andalites? Some of us had survived the conflict with the Yeerks? Had perhaps been stranded as we had? I recalled the Dome plummeting into Earth’s ocean. Had some of us been left inside? I tried to recall if anyone had been sick or injured and thus recuperating in the shipboard hospital, but could not remember. Or had another fighter pilot been able to land on Earth’s surface?

The Abomination sensed my hesitation. Or perhaps he sensed that I had no idea what he was talking about. Indeed, Mertil and I had lost our long-range communicators; we had been unable even to sift Yeerk traffic. If there were other Andalites on Earth, I had been unaware of their presence until now.

The Abomination’s voice changed, grew conniving. “Meet me in the clearing where we took your fellow Andalite,” he said, “I will explain further.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow at noon.”

“What--”

The phone line went dead. I heard only a dull buzz from the receiver pressed tightly to my human ear.

* * *

 I set out to meet with him the next day. Instead I encountered young Aximili. And a human.

A human who appeared to possess the power to morph.

I urged them to depart, but… but. The seed had begun growing in my mind. It sprouted into something worse than a weed. A vile flower of thought blossomed as I waited for the Visser.

You see. I now had contact with the “Andalite Bandits” he had spoken of, one of whom must be Aximili and… his Prince? Elfangor, perhaps? Yes, it would be Elfangor, Aximili’s brother, of course. But how had he survived? Either way--I knew the young _aristh_. And I knew he would respect me, as so many young cadets do. He would allow me to meet with his brother. He would…

The Abomination would be here soon. What other choice did I have? What other choice? I would die for Mertil without question, would happily throw away what remained of my life. This choice… this more difficult choice… Could I do this?

My mind galloped in circles, trying to eat the same grass twice.

And the Abomination, Visser Three, landed in the clearing in his cloaked Blade Ship. The ship scorched a heedless circle in the grass, souring the air with the smell of burnt vegetation. The hatch opened and there he was, in Alloran’s stolen body. My first peculiar thought was that from a distance he almost resembled old Nerefir.

Could Nerefir be alive as well? Aximili--and Elfangor--could we all, somehow, have survived, only for me now to contemplate this terrible act of treason?

When he approached, however, flanked by Hork-Bajir, it was clear what he was. No Andalite exuded that aura of evil. Perhaps the effect was due to the carriage of his tail and stalk eyes, the posture that would have been considered an absurd pantomime of high status in polite company. Perhaps it was the way he moved his body, almost sensuously, as if glorying in his stolen flesh.

In any case. This was not Alloran-Semitur-Corass, War-Prince of the People. This was someone… some _thing..._ else.

He trained all four of his eyes on me.

Was he frightened? Surprised that a sick and useless body could appear so powerful?

Intimidated by my size and bulk?

 _Good. Let him feel fear_. I took a step forward, muscles flexed and tail held high.

<Greetings,> I told him formally. As if we were two Andalites. I was well aware of this Yeerk and his sick fascination with Andalites; treating him in this way might permit me more power in our negotiation. Indeed, I saw his stalk eyes relax just a fraction. No one but another Andalite would have noticed it. It was good that we stood in such bright light here in the center of the clearing; I could view him without too much impediment from the gray fuzz around the edges of my vision. Earlier, in the shade of the trees with Aximili and the human, I had been far less aware of my surroundings.

<Greetings,> the Abomination told me. <You are here to agree to all of my terms?>

<I must hear them first,> I said.

His posture tightened again. I stood firm. At last, he loosed the tension coiling his tail and moved his arms to brace on his upper torso. A very human gesture; he must have picked it up on Earth. Humans put their hands in this formation when petulant. <You will bring me a healthy adult Andalite in exchange for your _vecol_ comrade. If you do not do so within three days, we will kill him. We will kill him most unpleasantly. Perhaps,> the Abomination mused, casting his stalk eyes to the sky as if recalling some pleasant memory, <Perhaps I will morph the Anterean Bogg and consume him as I did your Prince Elfangor.>

Elfangor!  Dead after all. Dead, and beyond the reach of my betrayal. I felt dizzied by the day’s many turns of fortune. But who could then be Aximili’s Prince? Or was he… no, young Aximili could not be in league with the Yeerks. Some other Andalite had survived, then, one I knew only slightly, to take up the mantle of Prince. Yes, that must have been what happened.

<Well?> The Abomination did not have much patience. He barked the words after allowing me only a breath’s time to think.

<If I do this… if I bring you a healthy adult Andalite…> I paused. The Abomination’s stalk eyes quivered in unnatural eagerness. <You will return Mertil to me and allow us to live in peace?>

<Yes,> he said, too quickly, obviously insincere.

<If you do not,> I warned him, <I will cause great destruction. Without Mertil, I have no reason to live. Search your host’s memory. Ask him of the behavior of true _shorm_ s, since I have no doubt you yourself do not understand compassion. Ask him if I am truthful when I say: if you harm Mertil… if you kill him after I fulfill our bargain… I have the means to create, and detonate, a chemical bomb powerful enough to incinerate half of this continent. You will return Mertil to me, _Visser_ , or you and thousands of your people will burn.>

I felt sick. I had just mirrored the Abomination’s terrible tactics back to him, spoken to him in the only language he understood: the language of threats. I disgusted myself. But I could also tell my words had been effective.

He regarded me with something close to fascination. <A pity your body is wracked with disease. You would make an interesting host.>

<A pity,> I said, with great irony.

<Your… _shorm_ … will not be harmed. _If_ you give us the Andalite within three days.>

<I will do it,> I said. I looked at him boldly. <Andalite custom says that we touch tail blades upon making an oath.>

<I am aware.>

He hesitated. Then he moved forward.

I did not breathe. If he allowed me to touch him I could acquire him… and in the morph of the Yeerk’s Visser Three I could perhaps infiltrate their operations. I could perhaps free Mertil. It was my last--

The Abomination hesitated and drew back. I felt my own tail sag. No. He would not give me this opportunity.

<I am Yeerk,> he said, with a sneer that was, in fact, very Andalite. Very like the expression I had seen on Alloran’s face in holo interviews. <I have no need of your rituals. Go. Perform your duty, _Andalite_. >

<I will do what I must,> I said. < _Yeerk._ >


	4. Coda

You know the rest of this story. I met with the “Andalite Bandits,” in truth a group of human youths fighting alongside Aximili. We fought to recapture Mertil. We succeeded. Mertil and I returned to our home. I took the precaution of changing my human telephone number, not that this would deter the Yeerks. Mertil worked to strengthen our force field, as he had chosen to study engineering while I pursued biology.

I gave myself the luxury of a day off my human job. I told Mariko to cover my classes. I claimed I had a family obligation, as family appears to be of high value to her human cultural grouping. I remained home with Mertil, where he made a show of grumbling that I got in his way while he attempted to watch his morning television shows.

<It is not supposed to be physically possible,> he told me, after I had complained of the unreality of a small human female defeating several large male humans in combat. <The conceit of the show is that she possesses supernatural abilities.>

We attempted to watch a human show about a group of friends who spoke to each other about their personal lives in a bar. I objected. <My colleagues do not behave like this. Nor do they wear this style of artificial fur.>

<It is entertainment, Gafinilan. The subtle alterations in their relationships over time make the show intriguing.>

<Let us watch more of the Food Network,> I demanded. I very much enjoy the human Martha Stewart, who gives decorating advice in addition to tips for cookery. 

<I want to watch PBS. Go morph to human and obtain your snacks. They will distract you.>

I admit I often enjoy PBS, primarily its programs on the biodiversity of Earth. But I did not wish to morph human. Instead I went to get some  _ illsipar _ , which I shared with Mertil as we viewed a documentary on human inventions of the Industrial Revolution. Mertil expressed his amazement that humans had developed so many technologies so recently. I expressed my disapproval of the impact they had had on the Earth’s ecosystem. When I grew bored and Mertil and I had consumed a great deal of  _ illsipar, _ I attempted to subtly hint that we should mate. Mertil pretended to ignore me. But not for very long.

We have always had a more physical relationship than many Andalites. After all, when we began to view each other romantically we were adolescent males. While of course physical intimacy is not the only component of our bond, it is important. I find it upsetting that I tire so quickly these days, and that I will have so little opportunity to share my body with Mertil before I die. He understands this. Thus he did not truly object to our temporary distraction from his television programs. 

When we had finished I found myself in pain once again, and drained, even after so much  _ illsipar _ . I was slumped to my knees in the grass, next to Mertil. His fatigue was more pleasant than mine. 

With my tiredness came a wave of dull depression, unlike the usual pleasant stupor that succeeds mating. We sat in silence for some time before Mertil extended a questioning thought, probing gently for my reflections.

<I am so sorry,> I burst out.

<It was not that bad,> he said drily.

<No,> I said, almost smiling, shoving at him with one arm. Harder than I had intended; my muscles were not fully under my control. Mertil had to pause to right himself in the grass. <I…> I waited.

He remained silent, allowing me to speak. 

<I allowed them to take you. I made so many mistakes. I… I failed in so many… you had to suffer so much.> I sent him images, fears, questioning, all of which he absorbed while letting nothing out himself.

<We have been through worse,> he said. It was true. The Ssstram wars, certainly. The time we had both been pulled on board a Yeerk freighter and been forced to cut our way out and leap free far above the planet’s surface. Both of us had broken legs in landing, but we had survived. We had survived much.

<They tortured you-- >

<It was no worse than listening to your attempts at poetry,> he said lightly, but he allowed me to touch his arm with my hand before he gently brushed it away. <Pain is of the moment, and ebbs with the moment. Truly, Gafinilan, I believe the torture you felt was worse.>

I was not sure I disagreed, so I let this remark pass unanswered. <Mertil. I must tell you. The Abomination offered me a deal. I took it. I would have betrayed another Andalite to the Abomination, just to have you back.>

Mertil allowed me to speak as if letting me lance poison from a wound. Then he leaned over and carefully, carefully touched the length of his tail to mine. I shivered. He had done this so infrequently since his injury… but it was a welcome touch. He said, <No.>

<No?> I said.

<No. You betrayed no one.>

<I would have.>

<Would have?> he said. <Would have is not fact.> He turned both stalk eyes to look at me, though his main eyes remained fixed on some point in middle distance, as if he were swearing a solemn oath. He still held his tail alongside mine. <I know you, Gafinilan. You are silly and wise. You are impetuous and arrogant and forgiving. You are gentle and you are a warrior. You are yourself. And who you are… would not have betrayed one of our kind. You are an Andalite,> he said simply. <A creature of great contradictions and great capacities. And what I love most about you is that you will not change who you are.>

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so enjoyed writing these two that I've begun an epic adventure, set pre-series, in which they hang out with Elfangor aboard the GalaxyTree. Stay tuned.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to the excellent [Cavatica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavatica/pseuds/Cavatica) for the beta and vast array of Andalite headcanons.


End file.
